Chapter Eighteen.A Horrible Task.Two days elapsed before the schooner was again well under the lee of Sandy Key, and preparations were made to land as soon as it grew dusk.It was a soft, calm evening, and the sea looked solemn and desolate as the sun went down in a bank of clouds. A good look-out had been kept, but there was no sign of sail upon the wide spread sea, while the solemnity of the hour seemed to have influenced the men, who had gathered some inkling of their commander’s intentions.“Whisht! Don’t talk about it,” said Dinny to one questioner. “Sure, it’s a whim of the skipper’s, and if he likes to take his brother and bury him a bit more dacently at the shelter, who has a better right?”“Are you going?”“And is it me? They wouldn’t ask me.”Just at the same time a conversation was going on in the fore-part of the vessel, where the captain had been standing for some time with Bart.“Nay, nay, my lad,” the latter whispered; “not this time.”“Have you got all ready?”“Ay. Just as you said.”“Then, an hour after sundown, we’ll go.”Bart tightened up his lips and looked more obstinate than he had ever before looked in his life.“What is it?” said the captain, sharply.“I was a-thinking,” said Bart, shortly.“Well—of what?”“I was a-thinking that you’ve just been made captain, and that the crew’s with you, and that you’re going to chuck it away.”“What do you mean, Bart?”“I mean captain, as so sure as you give the lieutenant another chance he’ll take it, and the lads, like Dinny and Dick, mayn’t have the chance to get Mazzard drunk and come to your help.”“You do nothing but doubt your officer,” said the captain, angrily.“More do you,” retorted Bart.The captain started, and then turned angrily away; but Bart followed him.“You’re skipper, and I’ll do aught you like; but so sure as you leave this here ship there’ll be a row, and you won’t be able to go again, for you won’t come back.”The captain took a turn up and down, and then stopped opposite Bart.“I’ll take your advice, Bart,” he said, “though it goes very much against the grain. Take Dinny with you, and do this for me as if I were helping you all the time.”“Ay; you may trust me.”“I do trust you, Bart, heartily. Remember this: Abel and I were always together as children and companions; to the last I loved my brother, Bart.”Bart listened to the simply-uttered words, to which their tone and the solemn time gave a peculiar pathos; and for a few moments there was silence.“I know,” he said, softly. “And in my rough way I loved Abel Dell as a brother. Don’t you think because I say nought that I don’t feel it.”“I know you too well, Bart. Go and do this for me; I will stay aboard. I’m captain now, since fate so wills it, and the men shall find that I am their head.”“Hah!” ejaculated Bart, raising his hand, but dropping it again and drawing back. “That’s how I like to hear you speak, captain. Trust me, it shall be done.”An hour later the men stood aloof as Bart and Dinny lowered a long deal case into the boat and, as soon as the rope was cast off, hoisted the little sail and ran for the sandy cove where the boat had landed before.They were provided with a lantern, and this they kept shrouded in a boat-cloak originally the property of the Spanish captain of a vessel that had been taken.The precaution was needless, for nothing was within sight; and they landed and drew up the boat upon the sand, where the phosphorescent water rippled softly, and then the long chest was lifted out, and Bart bore it toward the cocoa-nut grove.“Well,” said Dinny, following close behind, “I did say that I wouldn’t do such work as this; but it’s for the captain, and maybe some day I shall be wanting such a job done for me.”Bart set down the case and Dinny the lantern beneath the cocoa-nut trees close by the levelled patch of shore; and then, with the dull light shining through the horn panes upon the sand, the two men stood in the midst of the faint halo listening to the soft whispering of the tide among the shingle, and the more distant boom of the surf.“It’s an unked job,” said Bart at last. “But, poor lad, it’s the skipper’s wish. A lovely spot for a man to be put to rest.”Dinny did not speak for a few moments. Then with an effort—“Let’s get it done, me lad. I niver belaved in annything worse than the good people, and the phooka, and the banshee, of coorse; but it makes a man’s flesh seem to crape over his bones to come body-snatching, as ye may call it, on a dark night like this.”They both stood hesitating and shrinking from their task for a few minutes longer, and then Bart stooped down and began to sweep back the sand.“It’s laid light over him, Dinny, my lad,” he said. “Just sweep it away, and we can lift him into his coffin.”“But—”“He’s wrapped in a canvas for his winding sheet, lad. Sweep away the sand there from his feet.”Dinny bent down and was in the act of scooping away the dry sand when he uttered a yell and darted away, followed by Bart, who was somewhat unnerved by his weird task, and who did not recover himself till they reached the boat.“Here, what is it?” cried Bart, recovering himself, and grasping Dinny by the arm, feeling indignant now at his own cowardice. “Are you afraid of a dead man?”“No; but he isn’t dead!” panted Dinny.“What?”“As soon as I touched him I felt him move!”“Dinny, you’re a fool!” cried Bart, in an exasperated tone of voice. “I wish he was alive, poor lad!”“I tell you,” cried Dinny, catching his arm, “he moved in his grave—I felt it plain!”“Come back!” said Bart, fiercely.“Divil a bit!”“Come back!”“Divil a bit, I say!”“You coward!” cried Bart. “Am I to go and do it alone?”“No, no, Bart, me lad, don’t thry it. There’s something quare about the owld business.”“Yes,” said Bart, savagely. “You turned coward and upset me. I don’t know whether I’m most ashamed of you or of myself.”He walked straight back toward where the soft yellow light of the lantern could be seen under the trees, leaving Dinny staring, trembling, and scratching his head.“He’s gone and left me alone,” muttered Dinny. “Sure, and is it a Kelly as is a coward? If it was to face a man—or two men—or tin men—I’d do it if I had me shtick. But a dead body as begins to move in its grave as soon as ye thry to lift it out, and says quite plain, wid a kick of its legs, ‘Lave me alone, ye spalpeen!’ why, it’s too much for a boy.”“Are you coming, Dinny?” cried Bart, as he approached the lantern.“Bedad, and he’ll think me a coward if I don’t go,” said Dinny, panting. “Sure, and what are ye thrimbling about? D’ye call yourselves legs, and go shakking undher a boy like that? Faix, I’m ashamed of ye! Go along, do; and it isn’t me that’s freckened, but me legs!”He mastered his dread and ran swiftly after Bart, who had once more reached the sandy trench.“I thought you’d come, Dinny,” said Bart. “You’re not the lad to leave a mate in the lurch.”“Thrue for ye, me boy; but are we to tak’ him back in the boat?”“Yes, it’s the captain’s orders.”“Howly Pater, but it’s dreadful work!” said Dinny.“Then let’s get it done,” said Bart, stolidly; and he drew off the lid of the rough case. “Come, lad, let’s lift the poor fellow quickly into his coffin and act like men.”“But didn’t ye fale him move, Bart, lad?” whispered Dinny.“No. What foolery!” growled Bart. “Fancy!”“Divil a bit, sor! I just touched him,” whispered Dinny; “and he worked his toes about, and thin give quite a kick.”“Bah!” ejaculated Bart.“Bedad, but he did!” whispered Dinny. “Wait a minute. The poor boy don’t like it, perhaps. If we only had Father McFadden here!”“What are you going to do?”“Shpake to him,” said Dinny, trembling; “and the blessed saints stand bechuckst me and harm!” he muttered, fervently. “Abel, me lad—captin, don’t ye want to go?”There was a dead silence.“Shpake to us, me lad, and saynoif you don’t; and we’ll respect your wishes.”The silence that followed Dinny’s address to the dead was broken by an impatient ejaculation from Bart.“Come on!” he said. “Do you take me for a fool? Lift, man, or I’ll do it myself!”Thus adjured, Dinny went once more to the foot of the shallow trench, and stooped down.“Now, then, together!” said Bart. “The dead can’t hurt the quick.”Dinny thrust his hands down in the sand on either side of the rolled-up canvas, made as if to lift, and then, as his hands met, he uttered another yell and fell upon his knees.Bart started away as well, and stood in the dim light, trembling.“There! Didn’t you fale him move?” whispered Dinny, who was shaking violently. “Captin darlin’, we were only obeying ordhers. Sure, and we wouldn’t disthurb ye for all the world if ye didn’t want to come. Don’t be angry wid us—it was ordhers, ye know; and av coorse ye know what ordhers is.”“Did—did you feel it too, Dinny?” said Bart, hoarsely.“Did I fale it! Sure, and he worked his toes again, and then give a bigger kick than ever!”“Dinny,” cried Bart, passionately, “the poor fellow has been buried alive!”“Buried aloive!” said Dinny.“Yes; he has come to. Quick, uncover him!”“Buried aloive! And it isn’t a did man kicking again’ being disthurbed in his grave!” cried Dinny, changing his tone and springing up. “Howly Pater! why didn’t ye say so before? Here, have him out at wanst!—the poor boy will be smothered wid the sand! Quick, me boy! quick!”He dashed at the trench again, and Bart seized the head, both lifting together; and then, as the sand streamed away from the canvas cover in which the remains of poor Abel had been wrapped, they both uttered a hoarse cry of horror and stood holding up their ghastly burden as if in a nightmare, terror paralysing them. For they felt that the long wrapper was alive; and from out of holes eaten in it, and dimly-seen in the lantern’s yellow light, dozens of the loathsome land-crabs scuffled quickly out, to keep falling with a heavy pat upon the sand and crawl away; while as their shells rattled and scratched and their claws clinked together, the burden grew rapidly lighter, the movement gradually ceased, and the two men stood at last, icily cold, but with the sweat streaming from them, holding up the old sail containing nothing but the skeleton of the poor fellow they sought.“Oh, murther!” gasped Dinny at last. “Bart, lad, think o’ that!”Bart uttered a sound that was more like a groan than an ejaculation; but neither of them moved for some moments.“What’ll we do now?” said Dinny at last.Bart did not speak, but he made a movement side wise, which his companion unconsciously imitated, and together they reverently laid the grisly remains in the case, which Bart covered, and then screwed down the lid, for he had come prepared.“What’ll the captain say?” whispered Dinny, as he held the lantern up for Bart to see the holes made ready for the screws.Bart turned upon him fiercely.“Don’t say a word of it to him,” he said harshly. “Poor lad, it would break his heart.”“Not tell him?”“Dinny, lad, you’ll keep your tongue about this night’s work?”“Not tell the boys?”“Not tell a soul,” said Bart. “We’re friends, and it’s our secret, lad. You’ll hold your tongue?”“Howlt my whisht? Yes,” said Dinny, “I will. Bart, lad, d’ye feel freckened now?”“No.”“Nor I, nayther. It was the thought that there was something else that freckened me. Phew, lad! it’s very hot.”He wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow, and then, as Bart ended his task—“Ye were scared, though, Bart,” he said.“Yes, I never felt so scared in my life.”“I shake hands, thin, lad, on that. Thin I needn’t fale ashamed o’ running away. Faix, but it’s an ugly job! Oh! the divils. Sure, and whin I die I won’t be buried here.”Dinny’s observations were cut short by Bart placing the lantern on the deal case; and then together the two men bore their eerie load down to the boat and laid it across the bows, the lantern being hidden once more beneath the folds of the great cloak with which the rough coffin was solemnly draped.“You’ll be silent, Dinny,” said Bart.“Niver fear, my lad,” said the Irishman.Then the boat was run out as far as they could wade, the sail hoisted, and long before dawn they reached the schooner, over whose side hung a signal light.As they reached the vessel, the captain’s face appeared in the glow shed by the light. The coffin was lifted on board, and then down into the captain’s cabin, after which the schooner’s wide wings were spread, and she was speeding on over the calm waters to the shelter, far away, that formed the buccaneers’ retreat and impregnable home, while Commodore Junk went down to his cabin, to kneel by the coffin side, and pray for strength to complete his vengeance against the world and those who had robbed him of the only one he loved.
Two days elapsed before the schooner was again well under the lee of Sandy Key, and preparations were made to land as soon as it grew dusk.
It was a soft, calm evening, and the sea looked solemn and desolate as the sun went down in a bank of clouds. A good look-out had been kept, but there was no sign of sail upon the wide spread sea, while the solemnity of the hour seemed to have influenced the men, who had gathered some inkling of their commander’s intentions.
“Whisht! Don’t talk about it,” said Dinny to one questioner. “Sure, it’s a whim of the skipper’s, and if he likes to take his brother and bury him a bit more dacently at the shelter, who has a better right?”
“Are you going?”
“And is it me? They wouldn’t ask me.”
Just at the same time a conversation was going on in the fore-part of the vessel, where the captain had been standing for some time with Bart.
“Nay, nay, my lad,” the latter whispered; “not this time.”
“Have you got all ready?”
“Ay. Just as you said.”
“Then, an hour after sundown, we’ll go.”
Bart tightened up his lips and looked more obstinate than he had ever before looked in his life.
“What is it?” said the captain, sharply.
“I was a-thinking,” said Bart, shortly.
“Well—of what?”
“I was a-thinking that you’ve just been made captain, and that the crew’s with you, and that you’re going to chuck it away.”
“What do you mean, Bart?”
“I mean captain, as so sure as you give the lieutenant another chance he’ll take it, and the lads, like Dinny and Dick, mayn’t have the chance to get Mazzard drunk and come to your help.”
“You do nothing but doubt your officer,” said the captain, angrily.
“More do you,” retorted Bart.
The captain started, and then turned angrily away; but Bart followed him.
“You’re skipper, and I’ll do aught you like; but so sure as you leave this here ship there’ll be a row, and you won’t be able to go again, for you won’t come back.”
The captain took a turn up and down, and then stopped opposite Bart.
“I’ll take your advice, Bart,” he said, “though it goes very much against the grain. Take Dinny with you, and do this for me as if I were helping you all the time.”
“Ay; you may trust me.”
“I do trust you, Bart, heartily. Remember this: Abel and I were always together as children and companions; to the last I loved my brother, Bart.”
Bart listened to the simply-uttered words, to which their tone and the solemn time gave a peculiar pathos; and for a few moments there was silence.
“I know,” he said, softly. “And in my rough way I loved Abel Dell as a brother. Don’t you think because I say nought that I don’t feel it.”
“I know you too well, Bart. Go and do this for me; I will stay aboard. I’m captain now, since fate so wills it, and the men shall find that I am their head.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Bart, raising his hand, but dropping it again and drawing back. “That’s how I like to hear you speak, captain. Trust me, it shall be done.”
An hour later the men stood aloof as Bart and Dinny lowered a long deal case into the boat and, as soon as the rope was cast off, hoisted the little sail and ran for the sandy cove where the boat had landed before.
They were provided with a lantern, and this they kept shrouded in a boat-cloak originally the property of the Spanish captain of a vessel that had been taken.
The precaution was needless, for nothing was within sight; and they landed and drew up the boat upon the sand, where the phosphorescent water rippled softly, and then the long chest was lifted out, and Bart bore it toward the cocoa-nut grove.
“Well,” said Dinny, following close behind, “I did say that I wouldn’t do such work as this; but it’s for the captain, and maybe some day I shall be wanting such a job done for me.”
Bart set down the case and Dinny the lantern beneath the cocoa-nut trees close by the levelled patch of shore; and then, with the dull light shining through the horn panes upon the sand, the two men stood in the midst of the faint halo listening to the soft whispering of the tide among the shingle, and the more distant boom of the surf.
“It’s an unked job,” said Bart at last. “But, poor lad, it’s the skipper’s wish. A lovely spot for a man to be put to rest.”
Dinny did not speak for a few moments. Then with an effort—
“Let’s get it done, me lad. I niver belaved in annything worse than the good people, and the phooka, and the banshee, of coorse; but it makes a man’s flesh seem to crape over his bones to come body-snatching, as ye may call it, on a dark night like this.”
They both stood hesitating and shrinking from their task for a few minutes longer, and then Bart stooped down and began to sweep back the sand.
“It’s laid light over him, Dinny, my lad,” he said. “Just sweep it away, and we can lift him into his coffin.”
“But—”
“He’s wrapped in a canvas for his winding sheet, lad. Sweep away the sand there from his feet.”
Dinny bent down and was in the act of scooping away the dry sand when he uttered a yell and darted away, followed by Bart, who was somewhat unnerved by his weird task, and who did not recover himself till they reached the boat.
“Here, what is it?” cried Bart, recovering himself, and grasping Dinny by the arm, feeling indignant now at his own cowardice. “Are you afraid of a dead man?”
“No; but he isn’t dead!” panted Dinny.
“What?”
“As soon as I touched him I felt him move!”
“Dinny, you’re a fool!” cried Bart, in an exasperated tone of voice. “I wish he was alive, poor lad!”
“I tell you,” cried Dinny, catching his arm, “he moved in his grave—I felt it plain!”
“Come back!” said Bart, fiercely.
“Divil a bit!”
“Come back!”
“Divil a bit, I say!”
“You coward!” cried Bart. “Am I to go and do it alone?”
“No, no, Bart, me lad, don’t thry it. There’s something quare about the owld business.”
“Yes,” said Bart, savagely. “You turned coward and upset me. I don’t know whether I’m most ashamed of you or of myself.”
He walked straight back toward where the soft yellow light of the lantern could be seen under the trees, leaving Dinny staring, trembling, and scratching his head.
“He’s gone and left me alone,” muttered Dinny. “Sure, and is it a Kelly as is a coward? If it was to face a man—or two men—or tin men—I’d do it if I had me shtick. But a dead body as begins to move in its grave as soon as ye thry to lift it out, and says quite plain, wid a kick of its legs, ‘Lave me alone, ye spalpeen!’ why, it’s too much for a boy.”
“Are you coming, Dinny?” cried Bart, as he approached the lantern.
“Bedad, and he’ll think me a coward if I don’t go,” said Dinny, panting. “Sure, and what are ye thrimbling about? D’ye call yourselves legs, and go shakking undher a boy like that? Faix, I’m ashamed of ye! Go along, do; and it isn’t me that’s freckened, but me legs!”
He mastered his dread and ran swiftly after Bart, who had once more reached the sandy trench.
“I thought you’d come, Dinny,” said Bart. “You’re not the lad to leave a mate in the lurch.”
“Thrue for ye, me boy; but are we to tak’ him back in the boat?”
“Yes, it’s the captain’s orders.”
“Howly Pater, but it’s dreadful work!” said Dinny.
“Then let’s get it done,” said Bart, stolidly; and he drew off the lid of the rough case. “Come, lad, let’s lift the poor fellow quickly into his coffin and act like men.”
“But didn’t ye fale him move, Bart, lad?” whispered Dinny.
“No. What foolery!” growled Bart. “Fancy!”
“Divil a bit, sor! I just touched him,” whispered Dinny; “and he worked his toes about, and thin give quite a kick.”
“Bah!” ejaculated Bart.
“Bedad, but he did!” whispered Dinny. “Wait a minute. The poor boy don’t like it, perhaps. If we only had Father McFadden here!”
“What are you going to do?”
“Shpake to him,” said Dinny, trembling; “and the blessed saints stand bechuckst me and harm!” he muttered, fervently. “Abel, me lad—captin, don’t ye want to go?”
There was a dead silence.
“Shpake to us, me lad, and saynoif you don’t; and we’ll respect your wishes.”
The silence that followed Dinny’s address to the dead was broken by an impatient ejaculation from Bart.
“Come on!” he said. “Do you take me for a fool? Lift, man, or I’ll do it myself!”
Thus adjured, Dinny went once more to the foot of the shallow trench, and stooped down.
“Now, then, together!” said Bart. “The dead can’t hurt the quick.”
Dinny thrust his hands down in the sand on either side of the rolled-up canvas, made as if to lift, and then, as his hands met, he uttered another yell and fell upon his knees.
Bart started away as well, and stood in the dim light, trembling.
“There! Didn’t you fale him move?” whispered Dinny, who was shaking violently. “Captin darlin’, we were only obeying ordhers. Sure, and we wouldn’t disthurb ye for all the world if ye didn’t want to come. Don’t be angry wid us—it was ordhers, ye know; and av coorse ye know what ordhers is.”
“Did—did you feel it too, Dinny?” said Bart, hoarsely.
“Did I fale it! Sure, and he worked his toes again, and then give a bigger kick than ever!”
“Dinny,” cried Bart, passionately, “the poor fellow has been buried alive!”
“Buried aloive!” said Dinny.
“Yes; he has come to. Quick, uncover him!”
“Buried aloive! And it isn’t a did man kicking again’ being disthurbed in his grave!” cried Dinny, changing his tone and springing up. “Howly Pater! why didn’t ye say so before? Here, have him out at wanst!—the poor boy will be smothered wid the sand! Quick, me boy! quick!”
He dashed at the trench again, and Bart seized the head, both lifting together; and then, as the sand streamed away from the canvas cover in which the remains of poor Abel had been wrapped, they both uttered a hoarse cry of horror and stood holding up their ghastly burden as if in a nightmare, terror paralysing them. For they felt that the long wrapper was alive; and from out of holes eaten in it, and dimly-seen in the lantern’s yellow light, dozens of the loathsome land-crabs scuffled quickly out, to keep falling with a heavy pat upon the sand and crawl away; while as their shells rattled and scratched and their claws clinked together, the burden grew rapidly lighter, the movement gradually ceased, and the two men stood at last, icily cold, but with the sweat streaming from them, holding up the old sail containing nothing but the skeleton of the poor fellow they sought.
“Oh, murther!” gasped Dinny at last. “Bart, lad, think o’ that!”
Bart uttered a sound that was more like a groan than an ejaculation; but neither of them moved for some moments.
“What’ll we do now?” said Dinny at last.
Bart did not speak, but he made a movement side wise, which his companion unconsciously imitated, and together they reverently laid the grisly remains in the case, which Bart covered, and then screwed down the lid, for he had come prepared.
“What’ll the captain say?” whispered Dinny, as he held the lantern up for Bart to see the holes made ready for the screws.
Bart turned upon him fiercely.
“Don’t say a word of it to him,” he said harshly. “Poor lad, it would break his heart.”
“Not tell him?”
“Dinny, lad, you’ll keep your tongue about this night’s work?”
“Not tell the boys?”
“Not tell a soul,” said Bart. “We’re friends, and it’s our secret, lad. You’ll hold your tongue?”
“Howlt my whisht? Yes,” said Dinny, “I will. Bart, lad, d’ye feel freckened now?”
“No.”
“Nor I, nayther. It was the thought that there was something else that freckened me. Phew, lad! it’s very hot.”
He wiped the great drops of sweat from his brow, and then, as Bart ended his task—
“Ye were scared, though, Bart,” he said.
“Yes, I never felt so scared in my life.”
“I shake hands, thin, lad, on that. Thin I needn’t fale ashamed o’ running away. Faix, but it’s an ugly job! Oh! the divils. Sure, and whin I die I won’t be buried here.”
Dinny’s observations were cut short by Bart placing the lantern on the deal case; and then together the two men bore their eerie load down to the boat and laid it across the bows, the lantern being hidden once more beneath the folds of the great cloak with which the rough coffin was solemnly draped.
“You’ll be silent, Dinny,” said Bart.
“Niver fear, my lad,” said the Irishman.
Then the boat was run out as far as they could wade, the sail hoisted, and long before dawn they reached the schooner, over whose side hung a signal light.
As they reached the vessel, the captain’s face appeared in the glow shed by the light. The coffin was lifted on board, and then down into the captain’s cabin, after which the schooner’s wide wings were spread, and she was speeding on over the calm waters to the shelter, far away, that formed the buccaneers’ retreat and impregnable home, while Commodore Junk went down to his cabin, to kneel by the coffin side, and pray for strength to complete his vengeance against the world and those who had robbed him of the only one he loved.
Chapter Nineteen.The Pest of the West.The merchants of Bristol sent in a petition to His Majesty the King, saying that the trade of the port was being ruined, that their ships were taken, that the supplies of sugar and tobacco must run short, and that, while the ladies would suffer as to their coffee, there would soon be no snuff ground up for the titillation of the noses of the king’s liege subjects.Always the same story—Commodore Junk, in command of a long, low, fast-sailing schooner, was here, there, and everywhere. This sugar and coffee-laden ship was plundered and burnt off Kingston port, so near that the glow of the fire was seen. That brig, full of choice mahogany logs, was taken near Belize. A fine Bristol bark, just out of the great port of South Carolina, full of the choicest tobacco-leaf, was taken the next week. And so on, and so on. Ships from Caracas, from the Spanish, French, and Dutch settlements, heavily-laden, or from England outward bound, were seized. All was fish that came to the pirate’s net, and if the vessels were foreign, so much the worse for them, the buccaneer captain dealing out his favours with fairly balanced hand till the shores of the great gulf and the islands that formed the eastern barrier rang with the news of his deeds.Government heard what was said, and replied that five years before they had sent out a ship to capture Commodore Junk, that there was a severe engagement, and the captain was taken and hung, and afterwards gibbeted off the port where his deeds obtained most fame.To which the Bristol merchants replied in a further petition that though it was as the Government stated, Commodore Junk’s body had been taken down from the gibbet soon after it was hung up, that he had come to life again, and that his deeds were now ten times worse than before.Moreover, that somewhere or another on the western shores of the great Mexican Gulf, he had a retreat where he lived in great luxury when ashore; that maidens, wives, and widows had been captured and taken there to live a life of terrible captivity; that many bloody deeds had been done after desperate fighting, men being compelled to walk the plank or sent adrift in small boats far from land; and that, though spies had been sent out, no one had been able to discover the mysterious retreat, even the Indians who had been bribed to go returning with their heads minus their ears, or else with strange tales that the buccaneer was under the protection of the great thunder gods, whose home was in the burning mountains, and that it was useless to try to destroy him and his crew.Moreover, the men of Bristol said that it was a crying shame that their ships and cargoes should not have adequate protection, seeing what a deal they paid to the revenue for the goods they imported, and that one of His Majesty’s ships ought to be more than a match for all the thunder gods in Central America, and His Majesty’s petitioners would ever pray.The king’s minister of the time said that the men of Bristol were a set of old women, and that it was all nonsense about Commodore Junk; and for some months longer nothing was done. Then came such an angry clamour and such lengthy accounts of the crimes the buccaneer had committed that the Government concluded that they must do something, and gave their orders accordingly.The result was that one day Captain Humphrey Armstrong walked along the Mall in his big boots, which creaked loudly over the gravel. The gold lace on his uniform glittered in the sunshine; and as he wore his cocked hat all on one side, and rested his left hand upon the hilt of his sword, which hung awkwardly across him, mixed up with the broad skirts of his coat, he looked as fine and gallant a specimen of humanity as was to be found in the king’s service.The officers of the king’s guards, horse and foot, stared at him, and more than one pair of bright eyes rested with satisfaction on the handsome, manly face, as the captain went along smiling with satisfaction and apparently conceit.It was with the former, not the latter, for the captain was on his way to Saint James’s Square, to keep an appointment at Lord Loganstone’s, and before long he was in earnest converse with Lady Jenny Wildersey, his lordship’s youngest daughter, one of the most fashionable beauties of her day.“Yes,” said the captain, after nearly half an hour’s preliminary conversation. “It is in the course of duty, and I must go.”“La!” said her ladyship, with a very sweet smile. “But couldn’t you send someone else!”“At the call of duty!” cried the captain. “No. Besides, you would not wish me to stay under such circumstances as those.”“La!” said her ladyship, as, after a show of resistance, she surrendered her lily-white hand, and suffered it to be kissed.“And how long will it take you to capture this terrible buccaneer?”“I shall be away for months,” said the captain.“La!” said the lady.“But I shall fight like some knight-errant of old, and fly back.”“La!” said the lady.“With the wings of my good ship,” said the captain, “and hasten to lay the trophies of my victory at my darling’s feet.”“You will be sure to bring him?” said the lady.“I hope he will fall in the fight,” said the captain.“Then you are going to fight?”“Yes, I am going out in command of a splendid ship with a crew of brave men, to attack and exterminate this horde of wasps, and I hope to do it like a man.”“But will anybody bleed?”“I fear so.”“La! Will you be hurt?”“I hope not. But I must run the risk; and if I come back wounded, it will be in your service, dearest, and then I shall claim my reward.”“No,” said the lady, with one of her most winning looks. “I don’t believe you. Sailors are worse than soldiers, and you will fall in love with one of the lovely Spanish ladies out there, and forget all about poor little me.”“Forget you!” cried the captain, passionately; “never! My love for you grows stronger every day; and as to beauty, was there ever a woman so beautiful as you?”“La!”Captain Humphrey was about to throw himself on his knees as well as his big boots would allow; but just then the door opened, and fresh visitors were announced, and though the topic of the captain’s appointment to the sloop of warQueen Jane, for the extermination of the West Indian buccaneers, formed the staple of the conversation, he had to leave at last with nothing warmer than a smile, but full of a great deal of hope.For love had blinded the eyes of the stout captain lately introduced to the fashionable beauty, and welcomed on account of the fact that he had lately succeeded to the Devonshire estates of the Armstrongs, consequent upon the death of his cousin James, who had been killed in a duel arising out of some affair of gallantry, the husband of the lady in question objecting to Captain James Armstrong’s advances, and running him through the body.So, deeply in love with as pretty a bit of artificiality as ever dressed, or rather believing himself deeply in love, Captain Humphrey joined his well-found ship at Falmouth, sailed for the far west and the land of the torrid sun; and the men of Bristol rubbed their hands, thought of their freights, and sat down to their ledgers, while they waited for the news of the hanging of Commodore Junk.
The merchants of Bristol sent in a petition to His Majesty the King, saying that the trade of the port was being ruined, that their ships were taken, that the supplies of sugar and tobacco must run short, and that, while the ladies would suffer as to their coffee, there would soon be no snuff ground up for the titillation of the noses of the king’s liege subjects.
Always the same story—Commodore Junk, in command of a long, low, fast-sailing schooner, was here, there, and everywhere. This sugar and coffee-laden ship was plundered and burnt off Kingston port, so near that the glow of the fire was seen. That brig, full of choice mahogany logs, was taken near Belize. A fine Bristol bark, just out of the great port of South Carolina, full of the choicest tobacco-leaf, was taken the next week. And so on, and so on. Ships from Caracas, from the Spanish, French, and Dutch settlements, heavily-laden, or from England outward bound, were seized. All was fish that came to the pirate’s net, and if the vessels were foreign, so much the worse for them, the buccaneer captain dealing out his favours with fairly balanced hand till the shores of the great gulf and the islands that formed the eastern barrier rang with the news of his deeds.
Government heard what was said, and replied that five years before they had sent out a ship to capture Commodore Junk, that there was a severe engagement, and the captain was taken and hung, and afterwards gibbeted off the port where his deeds obtained most fame.
To which the Bristol merchants replied in a further petition that though it was as the Government stated, Commodore Junk’s body had been taken down from the gibbet soon after it was hung up, that he had come to life again, and that his deeds were now ten times worse than before.
Moreover, that somewhere or another on the western shores of the great Mexican Gulf, he had a retreat where he lived in great luxury when ashore; that maidens, wives, and widows had been captured and taken there to live a life of terrible captivity; that many bloody deeds had been done after desperate fighting, men being compelled to walk the plank or sent adrift in small boats far from land; and that, though spies had been sent out, no one had been able to discover the mysterious retreat, even the Indians who had been bribed to go returning with their heads minus their ears, or else with strange tales that the buccaneer was under the protection of the great thunder gods, whose home was in the burning mountains, and that it was useless to try to destroy him and his crew.
Moreover, the men of Bristol said that it was a crying shame that their ships and cargoes should not have adequate protection, seeing what a deal they paid to the revenue for the goods they imported, and that one of His Majesty’s ships ought to be more than a match for all the thunder gods in Central America, and His Majesty’s petitioners would ever pray.
The king’s minister of the time said that the men of Bristol were a set of old women, and that it was all nonsense about Commodore Junk; and for some months longer nothing was done. Then came such an angry clamour and such lengthy accounts of the crimes the buccaneer had committed that the Government concluded that they must do something, and gave their orders accordingly.
The result was that one day Captain Humphrey Armstrong walked along the Mall in his big boots, which creaked loudly over the gravel. The gold lace on his uniform glittered in the sunshine; and as he wore his cocked hat all on one side, and rested his left hand upon the hilt of his sword, which hung awkwardly across him, mixed up with the broad skirts of his coat, he looked as fine and gallant a specimen of humanity as was to be found in the king’s service.
The officers of the king’s guards, horse and foot, stared at him, and more than one pair of bright eyes rested with satisfaction on the handsome, manly face, as the captain went along smiling with satisfaction and apparently conceit.
It was with the former, not the latter, for the captain was on his way to Saint James’s Square, to keep an appointment at Lord Loganstone’s, and before long he was in earnest converse with Lady Jenny Wildersey, his lordship’s youngest daughter, one of the most fashionable beauties of her day.
“Yes,” said the captain, after nearly half an hour’s preliminary conversation. “It is in the course of duty, and I must go.”
“La!” said her ladyship, with a very sweet smile. “But couldn’t you send someone else!”
“At the call of duty!” cried the captain. “No. Besides, you would not wish me to stay under such circumstances as those.”
“La!” said her ladyship, as, after a show of resistance, she surrendered her lily-white hand, and suffered it to be kissed.
“And how long will it take you to capture this terrible buccaneer?”
“I shall be away for months,” said the captain.
“La!” said the lady.
“But I shall fight like some knight-errant of old, and fly back.”
“La!” said the lady.
“With the wings of my good ship,” said the captain, “and hasten to lay the trophies of my victory at my darling’s feet.”
“You will be sure to bring him?” said the lady.
“I hope he will fall in the fight,” said the captain.
“Then you are going to fight?”
“Yes, I am going out in command of a splendid ship with a crew of brave men, to attack and exterminate this horde of wasps, and I hope to do it like a man.”
“But will anybody bleed?”
“I fear so.”
“La! Will you be hurt?”
“I hope not. But I must run the risk; and if I come back wounded, it will be in your service, dearest, and then I shall claim my reward.”
“No,” said the lady, with one of her most winning looks. “I don’t believe you. Sailors are worse than soldiers, and you will fall in love with one of the lovely Spanish ladies out there, and forget all about poor little me.”
“Forget you!” cried the captain, passionately; “never! My love for you grows stronger every day; and as to beauty, was there ever a woman so beautiful as you?”
“La!”
Captain Humphrey was about to throw himself on his knees as well as his big boots would allow; but just then the door opened, and fresh visitors were announced, and though the topic of the captain’s appointment to the sloop of warQueen Jane, for the extermination of the West Indian buccaneers, formed the staple of the conversation, he had to leave at last with nothing warmer than a smile, but full of a great deal of hope.
For love had blinded the eyes of the stout captain lately introduced to the fashionable beauty, and welcomed on account of the fact that he had lately succeeded to the Devonshire estates of the Armstrongs, consequent upon the death of his cousin James, who had been killed in a duel arising out of some affair of gallantry, the husband of the lady in question objecting to Captain James Armstrong’s advances, and running him through the body.
So, deeply in love with as pretty a bit of artificiality as ever dressed, or rather believing himself deeply in love, Captain Humphrey joined his well-found ship at Falmouth, sailed for the far west and the land of the torrid sun; and the men of Bristol rubbed their hands, thought of their freights, and sat down to their ledgers, while they waited for the news of the hanging of Commodore Junk.
Chapter Twenty.The Pirate Chase.“It’s like hunting a will-o’-the-wisp on Dartmoor,” cried Captain Humphrey, as he sat in one of his ship’s boats, wiping the perspiration from his sun-scorched face. “One day I’m ready to swear it is all a myth, the next that there are a dozen Commodore Junks.”For he had been out in the Mexican Gulf for six months, and was as far off finishing his task as on the day when he had reached Kingston harbour, and listened to the tales of the buccaneer’s last deeds.But it was no myth. Put in where he would, it was to hear fresh news of the pirates. Now some unfortunate captain would arrive in a small boat, with his crew, suffering from heat, thirst, and starvation. Now the half-burned hull of a goodly argosy would be encountered on the open sea. At another time news would come of a derelict that had been scuttled but not sunk, and seen in such and such latitude.Wherever he went Captain Humphrey was met with news, and at last with reproaches and almost insult by the authorities at the various ports at which he touched, for the way in which his task was being done.For there was he with a small, swift-sailing ship, full of stout seamen, bravely officered, well-armed, and with guns big enough to blow all the schooners in the west to matchwood, while from the captain to the smallest powder-monkey all were red-hot with desire to meet the Commodore and give him a foe who knew how to fight.Six months of following out clues, of going here and there where the schooner had been seen, or where it was expected, but never even to see the tail-end of that huge main-sail that caught the wind, laid the long schooner over, and sent her rushing through the water in a way that made all attempts at escape childish. In gale or calm it was always the same, and the masters of the many traders knew from experience that if the buccaneer’s schooner was in sight, they might as well heave-to as try to fly, for their capture was certain. Consequently, it was growing fast into a rule that when the long schooner fired a shot, it was the proper thing to lower sail or throw a vessel up in the wind, and wait, so as not to irritate the enemy by trying to escape.Messages travelled slowly in those days, but all the same Captain Humphrey Armstrong had received a despatch hinting at a recall, and a friendly letter telling him that if he did not soon have something to show he would be superseded and in disgrace.He was a rich man, and at the end of three months he did not scruple to offer rewards for information; he doubled his offer to the man who would bring him within reach of the Commodore’s schooner; and beginning with ten guineas, he went on increasing, as the time went on, till he reached a hundred, and, at last, when six months had passed, it was known all round the coast that Captain Armstrong would give a thousand guineas to be brought alongside the schooner.Captain Humphrey ground his teeth when he was alone in his cabin, and he swore as a Devon captain could swear in those days; but it did no good, and in spite of all his struggles, he could only look upon Commodore Junk as a will-o’-the-wisp.“What will Lady Jenny think?” he groaned. “And I meant to do so much!”At last what he dreaded arrived. He sailed into port one day, to find his recall; and he went back on board ship, ordered all sail to be made, and, ignoring the order, determined to find the Commodore or die.
“It’s like hunting a will-o’-the-wisp on Dartmoor,” cried Captain Humphrey, as he sat in one of his ship’s boats, wiping the perspiration from his sun-scorched face. “One day I’m ready to swear it is all a myth, the next that there are a dozen Commodore Junks.”
For he had been out in the Mexican Gulf for six months, and was as far off finishing his task as on the day when he had reached Kingston harbour, and listened to the tales of the buccaneer’s last deeds.
But it was no myth. Put in where he would, it was to hear fresh news of the pirates. Now some unfortunate captain would arrive in a small boat, with his crew, suffering from heat, thirst, and starvation. Now the half-burned hull of a goodly argosy would be encountered on the open sea. At another time news would come of a derelict that had been scuttled but not sunk, and seen in such and such latitude.
Wherever he went Captain Humphrey was met with news, and at last with reproaches and almost insult by the authorities at the various ports at which he touched, for the way in which his task was being done.
For there was he with a small, swift-sailing ship, full of stout seamen, bravely officered, well-armed, and with guns big enough to blow all the schooners in the west to matchwood, while from the captain to the smallest powder-monkey all were red-hot with desire to meet the Commodore and give him a foe who knew how to fight.
Six months of following out clues, of going here and there where the schooner had been seen, or where it was expected, but never even to see the tail-end of that huge main-sail that caught the wind, laid the long schooner over, and sent her rushing through the water in a way that made all attempts at escape childish. In gale or calm it was always the same, and the masters of the many traders knew from experience that if the buccaneer’s schooner was in sight, they might as well heave-to as try to fly, for their capture was certain. Consequently, it was growing fast into a rule that when the long schooner fired a shot, it was the proper thing to lower sail or throw a vessel up in the wind, and wait, so as not to irritate the enemy by trying to escape.
Messages travelled slowly in those days, but all the same Captain Humphrey Armstrong had received a despatch hinting at a recall, and a friendly letter telling him that if he did not soon have something to show he would be superseded and in disgrace.
He was a rich man, and at the end of three months he did not scruple to offer rewards for information; he doubled his offer to the man who would bring him within reach of the Commodore’s schooner; and beginning with ten guineas, he went on increasing, as the time went on, till he reached a hundred, and, at last, when six months had passed, it was known all round the coast that Captain Armstrong would give a thousand guineas to be brought alongside the schooner.
Captain Humphrey ground his teeth when he was alone in his cabin, and he swore as a Devon captain could swear in those days; but it did no good, and in spite of all his struggles, he could only look upon Commodore Junk as a will-o’-the-wisp.
“What will Lady Jenny think?” he groaned. “And I meant to do so much!”
At last what he dreaded arrived. He sailed into port one day, to find his recall; and he went back on board ship, ordered all sail to be made, and, ignoring the order, determined to find the Commodore or die.
Chapter Twenty One.The Black Schooner.Commodore Junk’s schooner, with its enormous spars and sails, had been lying-to off the harbour of Saint Geronimo one afternoon, where she had taken in a good store of fresh fruit for her crew, while waiting the return of one of her officers who had been overland to Belize to pick up information that might be useful to the captain.Bart Wrigley was silent that calm, still evening for a long time after the captain had spoken, and then—“It’s a mistake, my dear lad,” he said angrily. “You do as you like, and I’ll follow you through with it, and so will the men; but I say it’s a mistake.”“And why!” asked the captain, coldly. “Are you afraid to meet the ship!”“Nay, I don’t know as I’m afraid,” said Bart; “but where’s the good? She’s twice stronger than we, and we shall get nothing but hard knocks.”“Do you think I should be so mad as to attack such a ship as that on equal terms?”“I dunno,” growled Bart: “May be. Where’s the good of fighting her at all?”“Why do I pursue so many vessels, and take such revenge as I do!” said the captain. “Do you think I’ve forgotten mine and my brother’s wrongs!”“No; you wouldn’t forget them,” said Bart, slowly; “but you’re going to run too much risk.”“Not too much to gain such sweet revenge, Bart,” said the captain, excitedly; and the dark eyes which gazed at the rough, Devon man seemed to burn. “Do you know who commands this ship that has been hunting us these six mouths?”“Yes; a brave officer in the king’s service.”“A brave officer!” cried the captain, contemptuously.“Well, that’s what they say; and that he has sworn to die or take us.”“He—sworn!” cried the captain. “A brave captain! Did you and poor Abel find him so brave when you met him that night on the road to Slapton Lea?”“What!” cried Bart. “No; ’tisn’t him!”“That ship is commanded by Captain Armstrong,” said the captain, hoarsely; “by the man, Bart, who blasted my life; who sent my brother to his death out here, for it was through him poor Abel died.”“No! Never!” cried Bart, incredulously.“It’s true, Bart. I have just learned that it is he by Dinny, who has returned from Belize. She is commanded by the man I once thought I loved.”“But you don’t love him now?”“Love! Bart Wrigley, can you believe in a person’s nature being changed by cruelty and wrong.”“No. Not yours,” growled Bart.“Then you may believe it, Bart; and now the time has come, and I am going to have my revenge. Do you know what I am going to do?”“You told me,” said Bart, roughly. “Fight.”“Yes; but so as to spare my men, and to spare myself. Bart, I am going to teach the king’s grand officer what it is to trifle, and to treat those he holds beneath him as if they were meant for his pleasure, and made for that alone. I am going to destroy the ship of this grand officer, to scatter his men, and to take him prisoner if I can.”“No!” said Bart, hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”“Why!” cried the captain, mockingly. “Are you afraid that I shall be weak once more? Don’t be afraid, Bart. Mary Dell is dead, and it is the soul of her brother who moves this body, and he it is who will take a bitter revenge upon Captain Armstrong for slaying Mary Dell; for in spirit it is this he did.”“You won’t kill him?” whispered Bart.“Why not? Was Mary Dell spared? Was Abel, her brother, treated so tenderly that I should hold my hand?”“But—” began Bart.“Leave that to me, Bart Wrigley. Help me to get him into my power, and then he shall learn a truth which will make the traitor—the coward—wince. Brave officer of his Majesty the King! How brave you shall see. Now, do you understand why I mean to fight?”“Yes,” said Bart, sadly; “I see. But think twice, my lad.”“Bart!” cried the captain, passionately, “I’ve thought a hundred times; and if I were ashore, and could go there—”“I know,” said Bart, gloomily. “You’d come out more and more savage and determined, as you always have been. Think twice, my lad. You’re rich; and you’re safe. Once more, why not throw it up now and let’s go home. I asks no more, captain. I’ve lived long enough to know all that; but come home now. There’s a life o’ peace yonder, and you can take it now; to-morrow it may be too late.”“Let it be so then, Bart.”“And you’ll come home—to old Devon once again?”“No! I’m going to meet the captain face to face, Bart, and plant my heel upon his neck.”
Commodore Junk’s schooner, with its enormous spars and sails, had been lying-to off the harbour of Saint Geronimo one afternoon, where she had taken in a good store of fresh fruit for her crew, while waiting the return of one of her officers who had been overland to Belize to pick up information that might be useful to the captain.
Bart Wrigley was silent that calm, still evening for a long time after the captain had spoken, and then—
“It’s a mistake, my dear lad,” he said angrily. “You do as you like, and I’ll follow you through with it, and so will the men; but I say it’s a mistake.”
“And why!” asked the captain, coldly. “Are you afraid to meet the ship!”
“Nay, I don’t know as I’m afraid,” said Bart; “but where’s the good? She’s twice stronger than we, and we shall get nothing but hard knocks.”
“Do you think I should be so mad as to attack such a ship as that on equal terms?”
“I dunno,” growled Bart: “May be. Where’s the good of fighting her at all?”
“Why do I pursue so many vessels, and take such revenge as I do!” said the captain. “Do you think I’ve forgotten mine and my brother’s wrongs!”
“No; you wouldn’t forget them,” said Bart, slowly; “but you’re going to run too much risk.”
“Not too much to gain such sweet revenge, Bart,” said the captain, excitedly; and the dark eyes which gazed at the rough, Devon man seemed to burn. “Do you know who commands this ship that has been hunting us these six mouths?”
“Yes; a brave officer in the king’s service.”
“A brave officer!” cried the captain, contemptuously.
“Well, that’s what they say; and that he has sworn to die or take us.”
“He—sworn!” cried the captain. “A brave captain! Did you and poor Abel find him so brave when you met him that night on the road to Slapton Lea?”
“What!” cried Bart. “No; ’tisn’t him!”
“That ship is commanded by Captain Armstrong,” said the captain, hoarsely; “by the man, Bart, who blasted my life; who sent my brother to his death out here, for it was through him poor Abel died.”
“No! Never!” cried Bart, incredulously.
“It’s true, Bart. I have just learned that it is he by Dinny, who has returned from Belize. She is commanded by the man I once thought I loved.”
“But you don’t love him now?”
“Love! Bart Wrigley, can you believe in a person’s nature being changed by cruelty and wrong.”
“No. Not yours,” growled Bart.
“Then you may believe it, Bart; and now the time has come, and I am going to have my revenge. Do you know what I am going to do?”
“You told me,” said Bart, roughly. “Fight.”
“Yes; but so as to spare my men, and to spare myself. Bart, I am going to teach the king’s grand officer what it is to trifle, and to treat those he holds beneath him as if they were meant for his pleasure, and made for that alone. I am going to destroy the ship of this grand officer, to scatter his men, and to take him prisoner if I can.”
“No!” said Bart, hoarsely. “Don’t do that.”
“Why!” cried the captain, mockingly. “Are you afraid that I shall be weak once more? Don’t be afraid, Bart. Mary Dell is dead, and it is the soul of her brother who moves this body, and he it is who will take a bitter revenge upon Captain Armstrong for slaying Mary Dell; for in spirit it is this he did.”
“You won’t kill him?” whispered Bart.
“Why not? Was Mary Dell spared? Was Abel, her brother, treated so tenderly that I should hold my hand?”
“But—” began Bart.
“Leave that to me, Bart Wrigley. Help me to get him into my power, and then he shall learn a truth which will make the traitor—the coward—wince. Brave officer of his Majesty the King! How brave you shall see. Now, do you understand why I mean to fight?”
“Yes,” said Bart, sadly; “I see. But think twice, my lad.”
“Bart!” cried the captain, passionately, “I’ve thought a hundred times; and if I were ashore, and could go there—”
“I know,” said Bart, gloomily. “You’d come out more and more savage and determined, as you always have been. Think twice, my lad. You’re rich; and you’re safe. Once more, why not throw it up now and let’s go home. I asks no more, captain. I’ve lived long enough to know all that; but come home now. There’s a life o’ peace yonder, and you can take it now; to-morrow it may be too late.”
“Let it be so then, Bart.”
“And you’ll come home—to old Devon once again?”
“No! I’m going to meet the captain face to face, Bart, and plant my heel upon his neck.”
Chapter Twenty Two.News at Last.Humphrey Armstrong sat in his cabin listening to the whirr of a beetle which had been attracted by the lights, and flown in through the open window, to make a bass to the treble hum of the mosquitoes which haunted the mouth of the river where the ship had anchored for the night.The day had been intensely hot, and the cabin seemed ovenlike, as its occupant sat listening to the insect hum; and then to the strange croakings and rustling noises which came from the primeval forest on either side. Now and then a deep roar announced the presence of some huge creature of the cat tribe prowling in search of prey, and this would be followed by a distant answering call.He walked to the window and looked out, to see the stars reflected in a blurred manner in the rushing waters of the river; while on either side he could see the bushes which fringed the muddy banks scintillating with the lamps of the fireflies. Now they died out, and there would be only a faint twinkle here and there; then, as if something had disturbed or agitated the wondrous insects, they would flash out into soft, lambent sparks of light which played about and darted and circled, and then once more died out, as if to give place to some other creature of their kind, which flashed out so broad a light that the leaves of the trees around could be plainly seen.He had been away five days since the orders had come out for his return, in the vain hope that perhaps now he might at last encounter the buccaneer; but, so far, he had seen or heard nothing; and the pirate captain might have dropped out of sight, or never existed, on the evening when the captain searched creek after creek along the coast, till nightfall, when, for safety’s sake, he had anchored at the mouth of the muddy stream.He was lost in thought, and was puzzling out an answer to the question: How was it that the buccaneer schooner contrived to avoid him?—when his trained ears detected the sound of a paddle, and he gazed keenly over the dark waters, wondering whether his watch on deck had heard it, and how long they would be ere they challenged the approaching party in their boat?The question had hardly been mentally asked when he heard the challenge from on deck, and the paddling ceased. Then came a certain amount of shouting, and a conversation, muffled by the distance, followed, and the boat was allowed to approach.A minute later the officer of the watch came down to announce the arrival of a couple of Indians bearing news.“It’s the old story, sir, vamped up to get a bottle of rum; but I thought I’d better report it to you. Shall I kick them, and let them go!”“No,” said the captain, shortly, for he was ready now to snatch at straws. “What does the man say?”“There are two of them, sir; and they say the pirate vessel is to be found a day’s journey to the south, and that they have seen it lying at anchor.”“Do they seem honest!”“Honest as Indians, sir. I think it’s all made up.”“I’ll come and see them.”The captain rose and went on deck, where he found a couple of soft, brown, plump-looking Indians, with large, dreamy eyes and languid manner, seated upon their heels near the gangway, where they could give a glance from time to time at their canoe swinging by a frail-looking bark rope.The men did not stir as the captain came up, but crouched in their old position, gazing up at him furtively.“Now,” he said, sharply, “where is this pirate ship?”The men looked at him vacantly.“Commodore Junk!” said Humphrey.“El Commodore Yunk; yes. Ship there.”One of the Indians had caught his meaning, and pointed southward.“Have you seen the ship?”The men nodded quickly and pointed again.“Why have you come here to tell us?”The Indian stared, then looked at his companion, with whom he rapidly exchanged a few words, ending by turning back, holding out his hands, and exclaiming—“El Commodore Yunk. Money. Rum.”“There’s a frankness about this fellow that makes me disposed to believe him,” said Humphrey, grimly, as he smiled at the officer. “‘Commodore Yunk. Money. Rum.’ And the pointing seems to me as effective as the longest speech. Look here, can you understand? Show us—”“Show—show—way—El Commodore Yunk.”“Yes, that will do,” said the captain. “But mind this; if you play us false—here, show him!”“Show—El Commodore Yunk,” cried the Indian, catching the last words. “Money—powd—rum.”“You shall have plenty,” said Humphrey; “but make him understand that if he plays us false he shall be hung at the yard-arm.”The officer of the watch, quite a young man, seemed to enjoy his task; for, catching up the signal halyards, he rapidly made a noose, threw it over the Indian’s head, and drew it tight. Then, pointing upward, he said slowly—“If you cheat!”“Hang um?” said the Indian, sharply.“Yes. We shall hang you if you don’t show Commodore Junk.”“Show El Commodore Yunk,” said the Indian, composedly.“I think he understands us,” said the officer of the watch.“Very well, then,” cried Humphrey. “Let’s start, then, at once. Now, then, south!” he cried to the man.“South?” said the Indian.“Yes, south!” cried the captain, pointing. “Show us the way.”“Show. El Commodore Yunk. No.”He shook his head, and pointed around him, and then to the lanterns, which shed a dim light over the scene.“No. Dark,” he said.“He means it is too dark to go,” said the second officer. “Look here, old brownskin. Light? sun?”“Light—sun!” cried the Indian, eagerly, pointing to the east, and then seizing the thin rope which had been twisted round his neck, he ran to the gangway, slid down into his boat, made the cord fast, and came scrambling up again to secure the signal-line.This done, he said a few words to his companion, and, going to the side, threw himself down under the bulwarks, and seemed to go to sleep at once.“Yes; that’s plain enough,” said Humphrey. “He means to wait till daylight. Keep a strict watch. We may have found the right man at last.”He need have been under no anxiety as to the two informers, for they lay motionless till daybreak, and then rose suddenly, looked sharply round, and, going forward, pointed to the rope which moored them in mid-stream.Half an hour later the sloop was gliding slowly out of the mouth of the river; the lowered sails caught the cool, moist morning breeze, and, in obedience to the Indian’s directions which were embraced in the pointing of a brown hand southward, the king’s ship sailed steadily along the coast a few miles from the shore, which, with its sandy beach alternating with bold headlands that ran down from regularly-formed volcanic-looking peaks, and creeks, and river estuaries, fringed with palm and mud-loving growth, showed plenty of spots where a vessel might find a hiding-place, and which it would have taken a fleet of boats to adequately explore.The Indian’s conduct increased the confidence of Humphrey; and as the day wore on the officers and crew, who had been for months chasing myths, began to look forward hopefully to an encounter with the pirates, and to believe that the preparations for action might not this time prove to have been in vain.It was within two hours of sundown, as the men were at their drowsiest moment—many being fast asleep—when, as they were rounding a rocky point feathered with glorious palms, beyond which the country ran up toward the mountains in a glorious chaos of piled-up rock, deep ravine, and fire-scathed chine, the principal Indian suddenly seized the captain’s arm and pointed straight before him to where, a couple of miles away, and looking as if she had just glided out of some hidden channel running into the land, there was a long, low, black-hulled schooner, spreading an enormous amount of canvas for so small a vessel; and as he saw the rake of the masts and the disproportioned size of her spars, Humphrey Armstrong felt a thrill of exultation run through him even as his whole crew was now galvanised into life, and he mentally repeated the words of the Indian—“El Commodore Yunk.”Yes; there could be no doubt of it. The shape and size of the vessel answered the description exactly, and no trader or pleasure vessel, foreign or British, would sail with so dangerously an overweighting rig as that.“At last, then!” cried Humphrey, excitedly, as he stood gazing at the long, suspicious-looking craft; and his heart beat heavily, his face flushed, and the hands which held his glass trembled with eagerness.The men made way to right and left as their captain strode aft and exclaimed—“Bring the poor fellows here. They shall have their reward and go.”“Was it treachery, or fear of the enemy?”Humphrey asked himself this question as a shout came from the steersman, who, like the rest, had been gazing at the schooner, but who was the first to see and draw attention to a canoe being paddled rapidly for the shore.No one had been attending to the two Indians, who had waited until the attention of all was bent upon the buccaneer, and then silently slipped over the side, glided down the rope, and cast off, to paddle shorewards.There was good discipline on board ship even then, and at the call to quarters every man fell into place. The long gun was run in, loaded, run out, and directly after there was a puff of smoke, a loud report which went echoing among the mountains and through the densely-wooded ravines, as a round shot skipped over the water right in front of the schooner.“Hurrah!” shouted the men, as they saw the long vessel alter her course a little.“She surrenders,” said Humphrey to himself; and in the brief moments that followed he saw himself returning to England in triumph, his task done, and beautiful, fashionable Lady Jenny Wildersey welcoming him with open arms.It was a puff of fancy, dissipated like the puff of smoke which came from the schooner’s bows; while, in company with the report that rumbled heavily away, came a round shot skipping over the calm surface of the sea, not forward like the summons to heave-to of the king’s ship, but straight at her hull, and so well-aimed that it tore through the starboard bulwark amidships and passed just in front of the mainmast, which it almost grazed.“The insolent!” exclaimed Humphrey, turning purple with rage. “How dare he!”As he spoke he raised his spy-glass to his eye, for something could be seen fluttering up the side of the great main-sail, and directly after a large black flag was wafted out by the breeze in defiance of a ship-of-war double the schooner’s size, and heavily armed, as well as manned by a picked and disciplined crew.“Very good, Commodore!” cried Humphrey, with a smile. “You can’t escape us now. Gentlemen, the ball has opened. Down with her spars, my lads. Never mind her hull; we want that to take back to Falmouth, from whence she shall sail next time with a different rig.”The men cheered and the firing commenced, when, to the annoyance of the captain, the wind dropped entirely, a dead calm ensued; night was coming on rapidly, as it descends in the tropic lands, and he had either to try and silence the schooner at long range, or man the boats and take her by boarding, a plan from which he shrank, knowing, as he did, that it could only be successful at a terrible cost of life, and this he dreaded for the sake of his men.The sloop crept a little nearer in one of the puffs of wind that came from time to time, and the firing went on, Humphrey and his officers being astounded at the ability with which the schooner’s guns were served and the accuracy of their aim.“No wonder that they’ve carried all before them among the merchantmen,” muttered Humphrey, as a shot came crashing into them, and three men were carried below disabled by splinters.As he spoke he looked anxiously round, to make sure that the schooner would not be able to pass them in the approaching darkness, and then, feeling more and more that men who could serve their guns so well would be terrible adversaries in a case of boarding, and determined to spare his men till the schooner was disabled, he kept up the artillery duel till the only guide for laying their guns was the flash of the enemy’s pieces when some shot was fired.By this time the fire of the buccaneers had proved so effective that the sloop’s bulwarks were shattered and her decks were slippery with blood, while her captain was fuming with rage at the unfortunate aim of his men; for, though the schooner had evidently been hit again and again, she seemed to have escaped the vital injury that a shot would have produced in one of her spars.All at once, just as the darkness had become complete, the firing of the schooner ceased; and to have continued that on board of the sloop would have been wasting shot.“Man the launch and jolly-boat!” said the captain sharply, and their crews waited with intense excitement the orders to go and board the schooner, a faint groan of disappointment arising as the men heard the instructions given to the two lieutenants to patrol on either side of the sloop, and be ready to attack and board only if the buccaneer should attempt to steal off in the darkness and escape.The night wore on, with every one on thequi vive. Two more boats were ready waiting to push off and help in the attack on whichever side the schooner should attempt to escape; while, in the event, of an attack, the other patrolling boat was to come back to the sloop.But hour after hour passed and no rushing of water was heard, no dip of long sweep, or creak of the great oar in the rowlock was heard; neither was a light seen; and the silence observed by the schooner was so profound that Humphrey, as he paced the deck, felt certain at last that she must have escaped; and, now that it was too late, he bitterly repented not attempting to capture the dangerous foe by a bold attack.“She’s gone,” he groaned, “and I’ve lost my chance!”He paced the deck in bitter disappointment, as he felt that he had let a prize slip through his fingers; and, as he waited, the night glided slowly by, till, slowly and tardily, the first signs of day appeared, and with a cry of joy Humphrey Armstrong ordered the signal of recall to be run up, for there, just as she had been last seen when night fell, lay the long, dark schooner, but without a man visible on board.In a few minutes the two boats were alongside, and Humphrey gazed longingly at the prize he felt ready to give half his life to reach.What should he do? Attempt to board her now that his four boats lay armed and ready for the fray?The temptation was too great, and the order was given: the four boats to attack at once, the men receiving the command with a tremendous cheer, and their oars took the water at once; while, compelled by his position to remain on board, the captain feverishly watched the progress of his boats in the growing light, and frowned and stamped the deck in his anger as he saw the crews were exhausting themselves in a race to see which should first reach the silent, forbidding looking schooner.He shouted to them to keep together, but they were beyond the reach of his voice, and matters seemed hopeless from the way in which they struggled, when a combined attack was requisite for success.Then all at once the launch remained steady, and the smaller boats went off to right and left. Another minute and all were advancing together, so as to board in four different parts of the ship at once.Humphrey Armstrong’s eyes flashed, his lips parted, and his breast heaved as he watched his men dash on with a faintly heard cheer; but there was no response, not a moving figure could be seen on board the schooner, and it was plain that she had been deserted during the night.“Curse him for an eel!” cried the captain, fiercely, as he felt that he was about to capture a vessel and leave her cunning commander to man another, and carry on his marauding as of old; but he had hardly uttered his angry denunciation when his four boats raced up to the schooner, and in a moment she seemed alive with men.Almost before the English captain could realise the fact, great pieces of iron, probably the schooner’s ballast, were thrown over into the boats, two of which were crushed through like so much paper, and the men as they sank left struggling in the water.All that could be done was to rescue the drowning men; and as the two remaining boats were being overladen, and then made a desperate attack so as not to go back in disgrace, a furious fire of small-arms was poured from every port hole and from the schooner’s deck, till, unable to penetrate the stout boarding-netting triced up all around the vessel, cut at, shot at, and thrust back into their boats with boarding-pikes, the sloop’s two boats fell off, and began to slowly retrace their course.The moment the way was clear Humphrey, who was almost beside himself with disappointment, begun pounding away at the buccaneer with his heavy guns; but instead of exciting a response he found that sails were being unfurled, and that, instead of the schooner being shut in, the bottom of the bay formed a kind of strait, and she was not in acul de sac.“She’ll escape us after all!” groaned Humphrey, as he ordered sail to be made, and the sloop began to forge ahead, firing rapidly the while, as the schooner began to leave her behind.She was sailing right in, and before the sloop could follow there were the two boats to be picked up.This was done, the removal of the wounded being deferred till the buccaneer was captured, and all the time a furious fire was kept up without effect, for the schooner seemed to sail right inland, and disappeared round a headland, the last they saw of the heavily-rigged vessel being when she careened over at right angles to the sloop and her shot-torn sails passed slowly behind the rocky bluff.“Only into shelter!” cried Humphrey Armstrong, excitedly; and giving rapid orders, fresh sail was made, and men placed in the chains with leads to keep up communications as to the soundings, but always to announce deep water, the land seeming to rise up sheer from an enormous depth in the channel-like gulf they entered.“She’s gone right through, sir, and will get away on the other side.”The sloop sailed on, with the water deep as ever, and before long she rounded the head, to find the narrow channel had opened out into a beautiful lake-like bay with the dense primeval forest running right down to its shores.But the greatest beauty of the scene to Humphrey Armstrong was the sight of the schooner lying right across his course a quarter of a mile away, and ready to concentrate her fire and rake the sloop from stem to stern.“Curse him! no wonder he has had so long a career!” said Humphrey, stamping with rage as he watched the execution of his orders, and a well-directed fire was once more made to answer that of the buccaneer. “With such a ship, crew, and place of retreat, he might have gone on for years.”The firing grew hotter than ever, and the schooner became enveloped in a cloud of smoke which elicited a burst of cheers from the sloop.“She’s afire! she’s afire!” roared the men.Humphrey’s triumph was now at hand. The scourge of the western seas was at his mercy, and shrinking from attempting to board so desperate an adversary for the sake of his crew, he gave orders to lay the sloop right alongside of the schooner, where he could cast grappling-irons, and then pour his fire down upon her deck.The orders were rapidly executed, and the sloop bore down right for the smoke-enveloped schooner with little fear of being raked now, for the pirates had ceased firing, and could be dimly-seen through the reek hurrying to and fro.“Shall we give her one more salvo, sir?” asked the first officer, coming up to where Humphrey stood, trying to pierce the smoke with his glass.“No, poor wretches! they’re getting fire enough. I hope she will not blow up, for I’d give anything to take her home unhurt.”There was a perfect rush of flame and smoke now from the schooner, and once more Humphrey’s men cheered and shook hands together, even the wounded in the excitement of their triumph taking up the cry, when, just in the height of the excitement, and when the sloop was within a hundred yards of the enemy, the men in the chains among the rest gazing hard at the rising smoke, the war vessel careened over in answer to her helm in the evolution which was to lay her side by side with the burning schooner, and then there was a tremendous jerk which threw nearly every one off his feet.Then, shivering from head to heel, the sloop slowly surged back us if to gather force like a wave, and in obedience to the pressure upon her sails, struck again, literally leaping this time upon the keen-edged barrier of rocks under whose invisible shelter the schooner lay; and then, as a yell of horror rose from the men, the unfortunate ship remained fixed, her masts, sail laden, went over the side with a hideous crashing noise, and all was confusion, ruin, and despair.The moments required to turn a stately, sail-crowded ship into a state of chaos are very few, and to Humphrey Armstrong’s agony, as well aided by his officers, he was trying to do something to ameliorate their position, he saw how thoroughly he had been led into a cunningly-designed trap. The schooner had been artfully manoeuvred to place her behind the dangerous rocks, and, what was more, a glance at her now showed her sailing away from a couple of boats moored beyond them; and in each of which were barrels of burning pitch sending up volumes of blackened smoke.“A trap! a trap!” he cried, grinding his teeth. “Let her be, my lads,” he roared. “Prepare for boarders!”The men sprang to their pikes and swords, while a couple of guns were freed from the wreck of cordage, and sail which the shock had brought down.These guns had hardly been trained to bear upon the schooner from the deck of the helpless sloop when a deadly fire was opened by the former—a fire of so furious a character that the confusion was increased, and in spite of the efforts of captain and officers, the men shrank from working at the guns.What followed was one terrible scene of despairing men striving for their lives against a foe of overpowering strength. The fierce fire of the schooner, as she came nearer and nearer, was feebly responded to, and in a short time the deck streamed with blood, as the shot came crashing through the bulwarks, sending showers of splinters to do deadly work with the hail of grape. There was no thought of capture now; no need of bidding the men attack: following the example of their officers, and one and all doggedly determined to sell their lives dearly, the men dragged gun after gun round as those they worked were disabled, and sent a shot in reply as often as they could.With uniform torn and bedabbled with blood, face blackened with powder, and the red light of battle in his eyes, Humphrey Armstrong saw plainly enough that his case was hopeless, and that, with all her pomp of war and pride of discipline and strength, his sloop was prostrate before the buccaneer’s snaky craft, and in his agony of spirit and rage he determined to wait till the pirates boarded, as he could see they would before long, and then blow up the magazine and send them to eternity in their triumph over the British ship.But it was to destroy his men as well, and he felt that this should be the pirates’ work when all was over.“No,” he muttered between his teeth, “it would be a coward’s act, and they shall die like men.”The schooner’s sides were vomiting smoke and flame, and she was close alongside now. She had been so manoeuvred as to sail right round the end of the reef, whose position seemed to be exactly known, so that from firing upon the sloop’s bows, and raking from stem to stern, the firing had been continued as she passed along the larboard side round to the poop, which had been raked in turn, and here it was evident that the final attack was to be made.It was not long in coming. Hardly had Humphrey seen the enemy’s intentions and gathered his men together, than the schooner’s side ground up against the shattered stern of the sloop. Heavy grappling-irons were thrown on board, and with a furious yelling a horde of blackened, savage-looking men poured on to the bloody splinter-strewn deck, and coming comparatively fresh upon the sloop’s exhausted crew, bore down all opposition. Men were driven below, cut down, stunned, and driven to ask for quarter; and so furious was the onslaught that the sloop’s crew were divided into two half helpless bodies, one of which threw down their arms, while the other, which included the captain and officers, backed slowly toward the bows, halting at every spot where they could make a stand, but forced to yield foot by foot, till their fate, it was plain to all, was to surrender or be driven through the shattered bulwarks into the sea.It was a matter of minutes. The fight was desperate, but useless—Humphrey Armstrong and those around him seeming determined to sell their lives dearly, for no quarter was asked. They had given way step by step till there was nothing behind them but the shattered bulwarks, and then the sea, when, headed by their leader, the buccaneers made a desperate rush; there was the clashing of sword and pike; and, as sailor and officer fell, or were disarmed, Humphrey stepped in a half-congealed pool of blood, slipped, and went heavily backwards, the buccaneer’s lieutenant leaping forward to brain him with a heavy axe.There was a rush, a fierce shout, Black Mazzard was thrust aside, and the Commodore sprang past him to plant his foot upon the fallen officer’s chest, while, the fight being over, the rest held their hands—the conquerors and conquered—to see what would be the captain’s fate.“Now, Captain Armstrong,” cried the buccaneer leader, “beg for your wretched life, you cowardly dog!”“Coward!” roared Humphrey, raising himself slightly on one hand, as with the other he swept the blood from his ensanguined face. “You cursed hound! you lie!”The buccaneer shrank back as if from some blow; his foot was withdrawn from the wounded officer’s chest, he lowered the point of his sword, and stood gazing at his prostrate enemy wildly.“The captain shirks the job, lads,” cried a coarse voice. “Here, let me come.”It was Black Mazzard who spoke, and, drunken with rum and the spirit of the furious fight, he pressed forward, axe in hand.Humphrey raised himself a little higher, with his white teeth bared in fierce defiance as he prepared to meet the deathblow he saw about to fall.But at that moment the buccaneer caught his lieutenant’s uplifted arm.“Enough!” he cried, fiercely; “no more blood. He is no coward. Bart—Dinny, take this gentleman ashore.”Humphrey Armstrong did not hear the words, for his defiant act exhausted his failing strength, and he fell back insensible to all that happened for many hours to come.
Humphrey Armstrong sat in his cabin listening to the whirr of a beetle which had been attracted by the lights, and flown in through the open window, to make a bass to the treble hum of the mosquitoes which haunted the mouth of the river where the ship had anchored for the night.
The day had been intensely hot, and the cabin seemed ovenlike, as its occupant sat listening to the insect hum; and then to the strange croakings and rustling noises which came from the primeval forest on either side. Now and then a deep roar announced the presence of some huge creature of the cat tribe prowling in search of prey, and this would be followed by a distant answering call.
He walked to the window and looked out, to see the stars reflected in a blurred manner in the rushing waters of the river; while on either side he could see the bushes which fringed the muddy banks scintillating with the lamps of the fireflies. Now they died out, and there would be only a faint twinkle here and there; then, as if something had disturbed or agitated the wondrous insects, they would flash out into soft, lambent sparks of light which played about and darted and circled, and then once more died out, as if to give place to some other creature of their kind, which flashed out so broad a light that the leaves of the trees around could be plainly seen.
He had been away five days since the orders had come out for his return, in the vain hope that perhaps now he might at last encounter the buccaneer; but, so far, he had seen or heard nothing; and the pirate captain might have dropped out of sight, or never existed, on the evening when the captain searched creek after creek along the coast, till nightfall, when, for safety’s sake, he had anchored at the mouth of the muddy stream.
He was lost in thought, and was puzzling out an answer to the question: How was it that the buccaneer schooner contrived to avoid him?—when his trained ears detected the sound of a paddle, and he gazed keenly over the dark waters, wondering whether his watch on deck had heard it, and how long they would be ere they challenged the approaching party in their boat?
The question had hardly been mentally asked when he heard the challenge from on deck, and the paddling ceased. Then came a certain amount of shouting, and a conversation, muffled by the distance, followed, and the boat was allowed to approach.
A minute later the officer of the watch came down to announce the arrival of a couple of Indians bearing news.
“It’s the old story, sir, vamped up to get a bottle of rum; but I thought I’d better report it to you. Shall I kick them, and let them go!”
“No,” said the captain, shortly, for he was ready now to snatch at straws. “What does the man say?”
“There are two of them, sir; and they say the pirate vessel is to be found a day’s journey to the south, and that they have seen it lying at anchor.”
“Do they seem honest!”
“Honest as Indians, sir. I think it’s all made up.”
“I’ll come and see them.”
The captain rose and went on deck, where he found a couple of soft, brown, plump-looking Indians, with large, dreamy eyes and languid manner, seated upon their heels near the gangway, where they could give a glance from time to time at their canoe swinging by a frail-looking bark rope.
The men did not stir as the captain came up, but crouched in their old position, gazing up at him furtively.
“Now,” he said, sharply, “where is this pirate ship?”
The men looked at him vacantly.
“Commodore Junk!” said Humphrey.
“El Commodore Yunk; yes. Ship there.”
One of the Indians had caught his meaning, and pointed southward.
“Have you seen the ship?”
The men nodded quickly and pointed again.
“Why have you come here to tell us?”
The Indian stared, then looked at his companion, with whom he rapidly exchanged a few words, ending by turning back, holding out his hands, and exclaiming—
“El Commodore Yunk. Money. Rum.”
“There’s a frankness about this fellow that makes me disposed to believe him,” said Humphrey, grimly, as he smiled at the officer. “‘Commodore Yunk. Money. Rum.’ And the pointing seems to me as effective as the longest speech. Look here, can you understand? Show us—”
“Show—show—way—El Commodore Yunk.”
“Yes, that will do,” said the captain. “But mind this; if you play us false—here, show him!”
“Show—El Commodore Yunk,” cried the Indian, catching the last words. “Money—powd—rum.”
“You shall have plenty,” said Humphrey; “but make him understand that if he plays us false he shall be hung at the yard-arm.”
The officer of the watch, quite a young man, seemed to enjoy his task; for, catching up the signal halyards, he rapidly made a noose, threw it over the Indian’s head, and drew it tight. Then, pointing upward, he said slowly—
“If you cheat!”
“Hang um?” said the Indian, sharply.
“Yes. We shall hang you if you don’t show Commodore Junk.”
“Show El Commodore Yunk,” said the Indian, composedly.
“I think he understands us,” said the officer of the watch.
“Very well, then,” cried Humphrey. “Let’s start, then, at once. Now, then, south!” he cried to the man.
“South?” said the Indian.
“Yes, south!” cried the captain, pointing. “Show us the way.”
“Show. El Commodore Yunk. No.”
He shook his head, and pointed around him, and then to the lanterns, which shed a dim light over the scene.
“No. Dark,” he said.
“He means it is too dark to go,” said the second officer. “Look here, old brownskin. Light? sun?”
“Light—sun!” cried the Indian, eagerly, pointing to the east, and then seizing the thin rope which had been twisted round his neck, he ran to the gangway, slid down into his boat, made the cord fast, and came scrambling up again to secure the signal-line.
This done, he said a few words to his companion, and, going to the side, threw himself down under the bulwarks, and seemed to go to sleep at once.
“Yes; that’s plain enough,” said Humphrey. “He means to wait till daylight. Keep a strict watch. We may have found the right man at last.”
He need have been under no anxiety as to the two informers, for they lay motionless till daybreak, and then rose suddenly, looked sharply round, and, going forward, pointed to the rope which moored them in mid-stream.
Half an hour later the sloop was gliding slowly out of the mouth of the river; the lowered sails caught the cool, moist morning breeze, and, in obedience to the Indian’s directions which were embraced in the pointing of a brown hand southward, the king’s ship sailed steadily along the coast a few miles from the shore, which, with its sandy beach alternating with bold headlands that ran down from regularly-formed volcanic-looking peaks, and creeks, and river estuaries, fringed with palm and mud-loving growth, showed plenty of spots where a vessel might find a hiding-place, and which it would have taken a fleet of boats to adequately explore.
The Indian’s conduct increased the confidence of Humphrey; and as the day wore on the officers and crew, who had been for months chasing myths, began to look forward hopefully to an encounter with the pirates, and to believe that the preparations for action might not this time prove to have been in vain.
It was within two hours of sundown, as the men were at their drowsiest moment—many being fast asleep—when, as they were rounding a rocky point feathered with glorious palms, beyond which the country ran up toward the mountains in a glorious chaos of piled-up rock, deep ravine, and fire-scathed chine, the principal Indian suddenly seized the captain’s arm and pointed straight before him to where, a couple of miles away, and looking as if she had just glided out of some hidden channel running into the land, there was a long, low, black-hulled schooner, spreading an enormous amount of canvas for so small a vessel; and as he saw the rake of the masts and the disproportioned size of her spars, Humphrey Armstrong felt a thrill of exultation run through him even as his whole crew was now galvanised into life, and he mentally repeated the words of the Indian—
“El Commodore Yunk.”
Yes; there could be no doubt of it. The shape and size of the vessel answered the description exactly, and no trader or pleasure vessel, foreign or British, would sail with so dangerously an overweighting rig as that.
“At last, then!” cried Humphrey, excitedly, as he stood gazing at the long, suspicious-looking craft; and his heart beat heavily, his face flushed, and the hands which held his glass trembled with eagerness.
The men made way to right and left as their captain strode aft and exclaimed—
“Bring the poor fellows here. They shall have their reward and go.”
“Was it treachery, or fear of the enemy?”
Humphrey asked himself this question as a shout came from the steersman, who, like the rest, had been gazing at the schooner, but who was the first to see and draw attention to a canoe being paddled rapidly for the shore.
No one had been attending to the two Indians, who had waited until the attention of all was bent upon the buccaneer, and then silently slipped over the side, glided down the rope, and cast off, to paddle shorewards.
There was good discipline on board ship even then, and at the call to quarters every man fell into place. The long gun was run in, loaded, run out, and directly after there was a puff of smoke, a loud report which went echoing among the mountains and through the densely-wooded ravines, as a round shot skipped over the water right in front of the schooner.
“Hurrah!” shouted the men, as they saw the long vessel alter her course a little.
“She surrenders,” said Humphrey to himself; and in the brief moments that followed he saw himself returning to England in triumph, his task done, and beautiful, fashionable Lady Jenny Wildersey welcoming him with open arms.
It was a puff of fancy, dissipated like the puff of smoke which came from the schooner’s bows; while, in company with the report that rumbled heavily away, came a round shot skipping over the calm surface of the sea, not forward like the summons to heave-to of the king’s ship, but straight at her hull, and so well-aimed that it tore through the starboard bulwark amidships and passed just in front of the mainmast, which it almost grazed.
“The insolent!” exclaimed Humphrey, turning purple with rage. “How dare he!”
As he spoke he raised his spy-glass to his eye, for something could be seen fluttering up the side of the great main-sail, and directly after a large black flag was wafted out by the breeze in defiance of a ship-of-war double the schooner’s size, and heavily armed, as well as manned by a picked and disciplined crew.
“Very good, Commodore!” cried Humphrey, with a smile. “You can’t escape us now. Gentlemen, the ball has opened. Down with her spars, my lads. Never mind her hull; we want that to take back to Falmouth, from whence she shall sail next time with a different rig.”
The men cheered and the firing commenced, when, to the annoyance of the captain, the wind dropped entirely, a dead calm ensued; night was coming on rapidly, as it descends in the tropic lands, and he had either to try and silence the schooner at long range, or man the boats and take her by boarding, a plan from which he shrank, knowing, as he did, that it could only be successful at a terrible cost of life, and this he dreaded for the sake of his men.
The sloop crept a little nearer in one of the puffs of wind that came from time to time, and the firing went on, Humphrey and his officers being astounded at the ability with which the schooner’s guns were served and the accuracy of their aim.
“No wonder that they’ve carried all before them among the merchantmen,” muttered Humphrey, as a shot came crashing into them, and three men were carried below disabled by splinters.
As he spoke he looked anxiously round, to make sure that the schooner would not be able to pass them in the approaching darkness, and then, feeling more and more that men who could serve their guns so well would be terrible adversaries in a case of boarding, and determined to spare his men till the schooner was disabled, he kept up the artillery duel till the only guide for laying their guns was the flash of the enemy’s pieces when some shot was fired.
By this time the fire of the buccaneers had proved so effective that the sloop’s bulwarks were shattered and her decks were slippery with blood, while her captain was fuming with rage at the unfortunate aim of his men; for, though the schooner had evidently been hit again and again, she seemed to have escaped the vital injury that a shot would have produced in one of her spars.
All at once, just as the darkness had become complete, the firing of the schooner ceased; and to have continued that on board of the sloop would have been wasting shot.
“Man the launch and jolly-boat!” said the captain sharply, and their crews waited with intense excitement the orders to go and board the schooner, a faint groan of disappointment arising as the men heard the instructions given to the two lieutenants to patrol on either side of the sloop, and be ready to attack and board only if the buccaneer should attempt to steal off in the darkness and escape.
The night wore on, with every one on thequi vive. Two more boats were ready waiting to push off and help in the attack on whichever side the schooner should attempt to escape; while, in the event, of an attack, the other patrolling boat was to come back to the sloop.
But hour after hour passed and no rushing of water was heard, no dip of long sweep, or creak of the great oar in the rowlock was heard; neither was a light seen; and the silence observed by the schooner was so profound that Humphrey, as he paced the deck, felt certain at last that she must have escaped; and, now that it was too late, he bitterly repented not attempting to capture the dangerous foe by a bold attack.
“She’s gone,” he groaned, “and I’ve lost my chance!”
He paced the deck in bitter disappointment, as he felt that he had let a prize slip through his fingers; and, as he waited, the night glided slowly by, till, slowly and tardily, the first signs of day appeared, and with a cry of joy Humphrey Armstrong ordered the signal of recall to be run up, for there, just as she had been last seen when night fell, lay the long, dark schooner, but without a man visible on board.
In a few minutes the two boats were alongside, and Humphrey gazed longingly at the prize he felt ready to give half his life to reach.
What should he do? Attempt to board her now that his four boats lay armed and ready for the fray?
The temptation was too great, and the order was given: the four boats to attack at once, the men receiving the command with a tremendous cheer, and their oars took the water at once; while, compelled by his position to remain on board, the captain feverishly watched the progress of his boats in the growing light, and frowned and stamped the deck in his anger as he saw the crews were exhausting themselves in a race to see which should first reach the silent, forbidding looking schooner.
He shouted to them to keep together, but they were beyond the reach of his voice, and matters seemed hopeless from the way in which they struggled, when a combined attack was requisite for success.
Then all at once the launch remained steady, and the smaller boats went off to right and left. Another minute and all were advancing together, so as to board in four different parts of the ship at once.
Humphrey Armstrong’s eyes flashed, his lips parted, and his breast heaved as he watched his men dash on with a faintly heard cheer; but there was no response, not a moving figure could be seen on board the schooner, and it was plain that she had been deserted during the night.
“Curse him for an eel!” cried the captain, fiercely, as he felt that he was about to capture a vessel and leave her cunning commander to man another, and carry on his marauding as of old; but he had hardly uttered his angry denunciation when his four boats raced up to the schooner, and in a moment she seemed alive with men.
Almost before the English captain could realise the fact, great pieces of iron, probably the schooner’s ballast, were thrown over into the boats, two of which were crushed through like so much paper, and the men as they sank left struggling in the water.
All that could be done was to rescue the drowning men; and as the two remaining boats were being overladen, and then made a desperate attack so as not to go back in disgrace, a furious fire of small-arms was poured from every port hole and from the schooner’s deck, till, unable to penetrate the stout boarding-netting triced up all around the vessel, cut at, shot at, and thrust back into their boats with boarding-pikes, the sloop’s two boats fell off, and began to slowly retrace their course.
The moment the way was clear Humphrey, who was almost beside himself with disappointment, begun pounding away at the buccaneer with his heavy guns; but instead of exciting a response he found that sails were being unfurled, and that, instead of the schooner being shut in, the bottom of the bay formed a kind of strait, and she was not in acul de sac.
“She’ll escape us after all!” groaned Humphrey, as he ordered sail to be made, and the sloop began to forge ahead, firing rapidly the while, as the schooner began to leave her behind.
She was sailing right in, and before the sloop could follow there were the two boats to be picked up.
This was done, the removal of the wounded being deferred till the buccaneer was captured, and all the time a furious fire was kept up without effect, for the schooner seemed to sail right inland, and disappeared round a headland, the last they saw of the heavily-rigged vessel being when she careened over at right angles to the sloop and her shot-torn sails passed slowly behind the rocky bluff.
“Only into shelter!” cried Humphrey Armstrong, excitedly; and giving rapid orders, fresh sail was made, and men placed in the chains with leads to keep up communications as to the soundings, but always to announce deep water, the land seeming to rise up sheer from an enormous depth in the channel-like gulf they entered.
“She’s gone right through, sir, and will get away on the other side.”
The sloop sailed on, with the water deep as ever, and before long she rounded the head, to find the narrow channel had opened out into a beautiful lake-like bay with the dense primeval forest running right down to its shores.
But the greatest beauty of the scene to Humphrey Armstrong was the sight of the schooner lying right across his course a quarter of a mile away, and ready to concentrate her fire and rake the sloop from stem to stern.
“Curse him! no wonder he has had so long a career!” said Humphrey, stamping with rage as he watched the execution of his orders, and a well-directed fire was once more made to answer that of the buccaneer. “With such a ship, crew, and place of retreat, he might have gone on for years.”
The firing grew hotter than ever, and the schooner became enveloped in a cloud of smoke which elicited a burst of cheers from the sloop.
“She’s afire! she’s afire!” roared the men.
Humphrey’s triumph was now at hand. The scourge of the western seas was at his mercy, and shrinking from attempting to board so desperate an adversary for the sake of his crew, he gave orders to lay the sloop right alongside of the schooner, where he could cast grappling-irons, and then pour his fire down upon her deck.
The orders were rapidly executed, and the sloop bore down right for the smoke-enveloped schooner with little fear of being raked now, for the pirates had ceased firing, and could be dimly-seen through the reek hurrying to and fro.
“Shall we give her one more salvo, sir?” asked the first officer, coming up to where Humphrey stood, trying to pierce the smoke with his glass.
“No, poor wretches! they’re getting fire enough. I hope she will not blow up, for I’d give anything to take her home unhurt.”
There was a perfect rush of flame and smoke now from the schooner, and once more Humphrey’s men cheered and shook hands together, even the wounded in the excitement of their triumph taking up the cry, when, just in the height of the excitement, and when the sloop was within a hundred yards of the enemy, the men in the chains among the rest gazing hard at the rising smoke, the war vessel careened over in answer to her helm in the evolution which was to lay her side by side with the burning schooner, and then there was a tremendous jerk which threw nearly every one off his feet.
Then, shivering from head to heel, the sloop slowly surged back us if to gather force like a wave, and in obedience to the pressure upon her sails, struck again, literally leaping this time upon the keen-edged barrier of rocks under whose invisible shelter the schooner lay; and then, as a yell of horror rose from the men, the unfortunate ship remained fixed, her masts, sail laden, went over the side with a hideous crashing noise, and all was confusion, ruin, and despair.
The moments required to turn a stately, sail-crowded ship into a state of chaos are very few, and to Humphrey Armstrong’s agony, as well aided by his officers, he was trying to do something to ameliorate their position, he saw how thoroughly he had been led into a cunningly-designed trap. The schooner had been artfully manoeuvred to place her behind the dangerous rocks, and, what was more, a glance at her now showed her sailing away from a couple of boats moored beyond them; and in each of which were barrels of burning pitch sending up volumes of blackened smoke.
“A trap! a trap!” he cried, grinding his teeth. “Let her be, my lads,” he roared. “Prepare for boarders!”
The men sprang to their pikes and swords, while a couple of guns were freed from the wreck of cordage, and sail which the shock had brought down.
These guns had hardly been trained to bear upon the schooner from the deck of the helpless sloop when a deadly fire was opened by the former—a fire of so furious a character that the confusion was increased, and in spite of the efforts of captain and officers, the men shrank from working at the guns.
What followed was one terrible scene of despairing men striving for their lives against a foe of overpowering strength. The fierce fire of the schooner, as she came nearer and nearer, was feebly responded to, and in a short time the deck streamed with blood, as the shot came crashing through the bulwarks, sending showers of splinters to do deadly work with the hail of grape. There was no thought of capture now; no need of bidding the men attack: following the example of their officers, and one and all doggedly determined to sell their lives dearly, the men dragged gun after gun round as those they worked were disabled, and sent a shot in reply as often as they could.
With uniform torn and bedabbled with blood, face blackened with powder, and the red light of battle in his eyes, Humphrey Armstrong saw plainly enough that his case was hopeless, and that, with all her pomp of war and pride of discipline and strength, his sloop was prostrate before the buccaneer’s snaky craft, and in his agony of spirit and rage he determined to wait till the pirates boarded, as he could see they would before long, and then blow up the magazine and send them to eternity in their triumph over the British ship.
But it was to destroy his men as well, and he felt that this should be the pirates’ work when all was over.
“No,” he muttered between his teeth, “it would be a coward’s act, and they shall die like men.”
The schooner’s sides were vomiting smoke and flame, and she was close alongside now. She had been so manoeuvred as to sail right round the end of the reef, whose position seemed to be exactly known, so that from firing upon the sloop’s bows, and raking from stem to stern, the firing had been continued as she passed along the larboard side round to the poop, which had been raked in turn, and here it was evident that the final attack was to be made.
It was not long in coming. Hardly had Humphrey seen the enemy’s intentions and gathered his men together, than the schooner’s side ground up against the shattered stern of the sloop. Heavy grappling-irons were thrown on board, and with a furious yelling a horde of blackened, savage-looking men poured on to the bloody splinter-strewn deck, and coming comparatively fresh upon the sloop’s exhausted crew, bore down all opposition. Men were driven below, cut down, stunned, and driven to ask for quarter; and so furious was the onslaught that the sloop’s crew were divided into two half helpless bodies, one of which threw down their arms, while the other, which included the captain and officers, backed slowly toward the bows, halting at every spot where they could make a stand, but forced to yield foot by foot, till their fate, it was plain to all, was to surrender or be driven through the shattered bulwarks into the sea.
It was a matter of minutes. The fight was desperate, but useless—Humphrey Armstrong and those around him seeming determined to sell their lives dearly, for no quarter was asked. They had given way step by step till there was nothing behind them but the shattered bulwarks, and then the sea, when, headed by their leader, the buccaneers made a desperate rush; there was the clashing of sword and pike; and, as sailor and officer fell, or were disarmed, Humphrey stepped in a half-congealed pool of blood, slipped, and went heavily backwards, the buccaneer’s lieutenant leaping forward to brain him with a heavy axe.
There was a rush, a fierce shout, Black Mazzard was thrust aside, and the Commodore sprang past him to plant his foot upon the fallen officer’s chest, while, the fight being over, the rest held their hands—the conquerors and conquered—to see what would be the captain’s fate.
“Now, Captain Armstrong,” cried the buccaneer leader, “beg for your wretched life, you cowardly dog!”
“Coward!” roared Humphrey, raising himself slightly on one hand, as with the other he swept the blood from his ensanguined face. “You cursed hound! you lie!”
The buccaneer shrank back as if from some blow; his foot was withdrawn from the wounded officer’s chest, he lowered the point of his sword, and stood gazing at his prostrate enemy wildly.
“The captain shirks the job, lads,” cried a coarse voice. “Here, let me come.”
It was Black Mazzard who spoke, and, drunken with rum and the spirit of the furious fight, he pressed forward, axe in hand.
Humphrey raised himself a little higher, with his white teeth bared in fierce defiance as he prepared to meet the deathblow he saw about to fall.
But at that moment the buccaneer caught his lieutenant’s uplifted arm.
“Enough!” he cried, fiercely; “no more blood. He is no coward. Bart—Dinny, take this gentleman ashore.”
Humphrey Armstrong did not hear the words, for his defiant act exhausted his failing strength, and he fell back insensible to all that happened for many hours to come.